Blood and Atonement
by The Grey Company
Summary: Volke may be willing to do any job for money, but everything he earns goes to a cause he believes in.


**A/N: **Volke always seemed to be a really cool character to write about, and due to the extreme lack of information on his background, it left me a nice blank slate to write in.

Set before PoR, but not too far before.

Fire emblem, the characters, world, etc. are all properties of Nintendo. Pretty much none of this stuff is mine.

Volke adjusted the sight on his crossbow. The target wasn't supposed to come for another fifteen minutes, but Volke had been waiting there for at least an hour, just in case. He considered the crossbow. It wasn't his favorite weapon by a long shot, but for assassination jobs like this, it was quite sufficient. More powerful than a bow wielded by any but the strongest, easily concealable, requiring very little training to use, and requiring no effort to keep readied for a shot for a very long period of time. A skilled sniper could fire a bow with equal accuracy at least five times as fast, but in his profession, you only get one shot in any case.

He looked down at his notes on the target. Tall, thin, with dark red hair, a finely chiseled face, and a Begnion Senator, the leader of the Free Republic party, and if rumor is true, plotting to depose the empress. That would explain Sephiran's willingness to pay such a large amount to dispose of him discreetly.

Steps rang out along the pavement. Volke nestled back into his hiding place on the roof of a nearby building. He had decided that the best time to take out the target was as he approached his home. Getting inside the castle he lived in was too much of a hassle, and the approach to the gate was the only place he could find good cover that offered a quick escape. He watched patiently as his guards swept the area for assailants, then motioned the senator forward. Volke kept the crossbow trained on his target, waiting for the perfect moment.

The sound of a cluster of rocks hitting the cobblestone street caused the guards to motion for the senator to stop again while they advance and make sure its safe. Seizing his opportunity, Volke pulled the trigger on the crossbow, and waited long enough to see the bolt slam into the senator's neck, apparently snapping it in two, before sliding down off the back of the roof into a waiting hay cart he had positioned before he got up there. The shouts of confused and alarmed guards filled the streets as he escaped into the obscurity of a back alley.

* * *

The collection site was in a small villa, some miles south of Sienne. Volke assumed it was one of Sephiran's many estates scattered over Begnion, serving as bases or safe houses, summer residences, or cages for his favorite pets. The place appeared to be empty, but Volke didn't get the creepy tingling feeling that he felt when it was too quiet, and seemed ripe for a trap. Instead it merely seemed abandoned. Packs of small rodents and occasionally the stray dog could be heard skittering around as he walked into the main hall. He stood for a moment. It was still 5 minutes before the arraigned meeting, but Volke had no idea how anyone was going to be arriving in that space of time

About five meters away from him, in the center of the room, a series of sigils burned bright red on the floor, then seemingly out of nowhere, a man appeared, His armor bulky and bright red, his cape a golden brown, denoting his high command rank. The holy sword in his hand could mean only one person.

"General Zelgius."

"I apologize for the fact that Sephiran could not deliver this personally. Your money is here," He threw a large brown bag on the floor, which landed with a resounding thunk. "Begnion thanks you for your service." The sigils reappeared, and as quickly as he came, he was gone.

"Huh. Didn't know he could do that." He knelt down and inspected the bag. Sure enough, it contained a heap of gold coins. Judging by its weight, he estimated that it was the full 30,000 he had asked for. "This ought to cover the new expenses." He slung the bag over his shoulder and strode out of the villa.

Making his way north, he followed the dirt road till he hit the Imperial Highway, Begnion's main causeway throughout the empire. The road was well paved with cobblestone, and wide enough to allow four carts to go by side by side, with enough room for people to walk on either side of them. Volke fell in with a group of wayfaring peasants, heading into the capitol to sell their goods. For a good two hours or so, he was forced to carry the burdensome weight of gold over his shoulder, until he reached the nearest way station. There he hired out a horse, and rode out to his next destination.

Volke stepped through the main doors of the abbey of Altina. The cold, gray, Gothic lines of the church belied the warmth he felt as he passed over the threshold, and into the main hall. There, dozens of small children played amongst the benches and around the altar. One bumped past him, chasing around a red haired little girl around the church. Volke reached out and grabbed him with his free hand. "Woah there little Wulf, found another one to chase around?"

"Uncle Volkie!" the green haired child shouted happily. A rare smile came across Volke's face. He reached into his satchel.

"Here, kid, have this." He took out a dark red apple, knelt down and gave it to the bright eyed child. "Apples, Your favorite, right?" The kid beamed at him, then looked at his apple in delight, the red haired girl totally forgotten, before taking a large bite out of it.

"You do have a way with the kids." He looked up to see the pale, golden haired priestess who ran the orphanage, Sister Cecilia.

"I try."

"What do you have for us today?" He took the bag slung over his shoulder and nonchalantly swung it into the surprised priestess's arms. She strained to keep the bag off the ground. "Guhhh... I'll... just... take... this... to... our... reverend... mother..." She slowly walked off, huffing and puffing, her body placed in a lopsided position trying to keep the bag in her arms. Volke followed her, quietly keeping pace.

The offices of the Reverend mother of the order of Altina were rather plain for one in so high a position. Reams of parchment were piled on her desk and stacked all over her room. Many wooden cabinets, Volke counted over fifty of them, were positioned along the edges of the room. In the center, the reverend mother sat behind her great oaken desk, her gray hair and wrinkled face partially covered by the white robes of her office, and the cloth hanging out from the cylindrical hat Volke had seen earlier as commonly worn by Begnion senators. The only ornaments in the room were a simple fireplace sitting directly behind the Reverend mother's chair, and directly above it, the golden emblem of the order, Altina's eagle, it's wings outstretched, holding her crossed swords in its talons. Volke closed the door as sister Cecilia dropped the bag on the desk. The reverend mother examined the bag. "Very good. This will do very well. I do believe we could expand outside of Begnion with this sort of money. Perhaps open a monastery in Nevassa. Ashera knows those poor wretches over there need it. Thank you. You are dismissed." She nodded towards Cecilia. As Volke turned to follow her out of the room, the reverend mother interrupted him. "Oh, Volke," she called out from behind her desk. "Could you stay here a moment?" The dark cloaked man turned around slowly.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to thank you for all you've done for us. Without you, the order would still be grubbing in the muck to get even the slightest funding for our programs."

"Think of it as my atonement, Reverend Mother."

"Whatever you think of it as, Volke, know that what you do means a better life for hundreds of children. I do not know whether it can wipe the blood off your conscience,"

"Nothing can clean my soul of the blood."

"But it is some bright mark on an otherwise abysmal landscape. Good day, Volke." He turned around once more and left.

As Volke strode once more through the main hall, he caught a glimpse of Sister Cecilia crouching down and giving a small child a piece of bread. His memory flashed back, to his days working the streets of Sienne, looking for jobs wherever he could find them. As he walked through a crowded market, a curiosity piqued his interest. He noticed a perfectly ordinary priestess quietly steal two loaves of bread from a merchant who was too distracted by a noisy and extremely agitated customer on the other side of his stall. Curious as to what purpose a normally law abiding and well to do cleric would be doing stealing food, he silently followed her, undetected, into a back alley. And he watched from the shadows as she knelt down to give each of a scraggly gang of dirty, ragged children a piece of the bread. The same priestess, somewhat older, but seemingly much unchanged came back into his view. He stopped, and looked around at every child in the room. This was his mark on the world, he decided. Every child spared the harsh streets, spared the life he was forced into. He remembered that day he stepped out of the shadows after seeing the starving children, and asked the priestess' name, as the most significant moment in his life. The day he stopped fighting for his own survival, and began fighting for the survival of others. He figured that was how he had lived with himself for this long. Back on the streets, Psyche "readers" as they were called gave every assassin a "mind-span", The time they thought it would take before an assassin would snap, and either go axe-crazy or go into into a guilty-depressive state. Either way, the assassin would be useless to most employers. Most were less than a decade. Some of the better readers could pinpoint the time down to the exact month. Volke figured he had far outlived his. He began walking again, and had just passed through the main doors when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, knives leaving their sheathes poised to strike down his possible assailant.

For a few seconds she felt the most abject terror in her life. In the few moments it took to register his motion, very muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of the cold steel of his knives entering her body. She felt his arms come around her. But instead of the tear of a knife, she only felt the soft grip of his hands clasping her back and neck, and bringing her lips down to his. She vaguely heard the sound of his knives clattering against the steps in the far distance. But the only thing in her world for those moments was him, the man she had loved and been deprived of for these long years in the abbey. She threw herself into the kiss, finally bringing her arms up around his neck. Long moments passed, seeming like eons to her, before they were forced to break for air.

"I had forgotten how good that feels."

"It's been a long time since the streets of Sienne. I've missed you."

"I'm sorry I can't be here as much as you want. Most of my contracts have been in Daein or Crimea of late."

"Why don't you just stay near here? I'm sure there's plenty of work in Begnion."

"I don't like the atmosphere here. Duke Persis is about the only one I don't expect to get a stab in the back from. I've known too many friends get turned in after a job by the people they were hired by after they have no more use for them. I don't like having to watch every angle. It wears on you."

"I see." her face fell. "You are at least planning to stay the night?"

"Yes. The Bright Banner Inn, a couple miles down the road." A scream, followed by the sound of a little girl crying reached their ears.

"I'll see you tonight." She said quickly, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she headed back inside. Volke put up his red scarf, concealing his face, as he walked over to his horse, and mounted up.

The Bright Banner Inn was like most other small roadside inns Volke had encountered in his travels, a dining hall and bar on the bottom floor just inside the main doors, then rooms on the next two floors above that. He paid for his room at the bar, which also served as the innkeeper's desk. Taking the key from the man, he went up to his room, and dozed off.

When he opened his eyes, the red rays of the sunset gleamed through the windows. He sat up slowly. He heard a knock on the door. He silently sneaked up to the door, placing himself on the edge of the door frame.

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, Volke." He opened the door. The figure of Cecilia, now in her brown traveling cloak stood before him. He ushered her in, and closed the door.

* * *

The sun shined brightly through the cracks in the drapes, shining a line of light across Volke's face. He wondered for a moment how he had managed to move from the bed to the floor. All of his muscles ached from some unremembered strain. Despite this, Volke felt vaguely pleased with the whole night. Talking with Cecilia into the late hours of the night, then seeing as it was too dark for her to go home, Arguing and engaging in a contest of courtesies over who got the bed, both knowing very well that either one of them would be perfectly comfortable on the floor, it being far better than the street side accommodations that they had known and slept on. Eventually agreeing to share the bed, and finally, sleep.

Volke wondered if there wasn't something his fuzzy memory was missing as he picked himself up off the floor, but he felt far too good to care. He noticed his coat hanging beside her cloak, which struck him as odd, as he remembered it being on his body when hw got into bed. He figured Cecilia, being her usual restless self, had found it laying on the floor in the middle of the night and picked it up. He heard a moan escape her lips.

"Is it morning already?" She sat up and pulled her now bedraggled hair back into the smooth ponytail she normally wore it in. She then got out of bed and smoothed out the wrinkles in her white robes before putting on her cloak. Volke strapped on all his knives and other assorted weaponry on before pulling his coat over top of them. "I suppose we must be going." Volke nodded, and they proceeded out the door. He checked out at the bar, handing his key in to the innkeeper. Taking the key, he motioned for him to bring his head in closer.

"Hey. You the fireman?" He talked in a low voice, inaudible to anyone but Volke.

"What if I am?"

"Someone's been asking around for you. The count of Fayre or some such."

"Bastian?"

"Yeah, I think that was his name."

"Why?"

"He says he has a job for you. Real hush-hush. Just got a letter from my fellow inn keeps up in Crimea. 20,000 gold."

"Mmmm. Thanks." He slipped a few gold coins in the innkeeper's pocket for the tip. He found Cecilia waiting for him at the door.

"Shall we go?" A smile crept onto his face.

"Yes, let's." They made their way down to the road to the abbey road. There he parted with her, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he left.

* * *

The Reverend Mother knew something was up the minute she saw sister Cecilia walking through the door. For one thing, she arrived several hours later than usual, whistling a lively tune with the biggest simile on her face. She had even gotten all the children a little treat out of her own allowance. The Reverend Mother cocked an eyebrow at her, then, with a knowing smile, retreated back into her office.

* * *

Volke was in an uncommonly good mood himself. He almost felt like breaking into a smile for no reason at all. Almost. Even delays in getting a good horse didn't dampen his mood. By the end of the day however, his mood had soured quite a bit. He was forced to abandon his horse at the nearest way station and make the journey on foot through the Serenes Forest to avoid the to avoid the border conflict between Duke Seliora's personal guard and the Daein army, which had the whole area near the main passage into both Crimea and Daein locked down due to the fighting. The trek through the wasted Serenes alone would be enough to dampen anyone's spirit, seeing the hulks of trees and plants petrified as the charred tinder they were shortly after the massacre. But to make things worse, he was waylaid by a mama bear after he had stumbled into her den by accident. Cut up, blood drenched and exhausted, he still had yet to even be halfway through the woods. And to top it all off, he ran clean out of Old Toby, his favorite pipeweed for long journeys.

The next day was not nearly as bad as the first. He made good progress, and reached the mountains by evening, and it took him the next day to get over them. Everything seemingly going right again as he walked the last seventy or so miles across Crimea, he was caught in an open field and picked up by a Crimean patrol led by an overzealous lieutenant by the name of Kieran, who was convinced that the black cloaked man was a Daein spy, and was seconds away from a field exectution, when one of his men convinced him not to be so hasty, and suggested that they take him back to Melior and lock him up instead. Keiran reluctantly agreed, and Volke found himself in the dungeons of the Crimean capitol by nightfall. On the plus side, however, they had let him keep his favorite pipe.

Bastian found the assassin sitting cross legged, staring thoughtfully at a leaf on the floor of his cell, a small trail of smoke snaking its way out of his pipe.

"Ah Volke. Gotten yourself caught have we? I would have thought the master of stealth would have been able to avoid a simple patrol." Volke took his pipe out of his mouth and tapped the ashes of his pipeweed out.

"Black stands out in a grass field. Nowhere to hide."

"How unfortunate. I've had to pull quite a few strings to keep my master assassin secret, and to get him erased from the records. I've even had to have a real Daein spy executed to satisfy that firebrand, Kieran. Of all the people for you to be captured by."

"You're telling me. He wanted to execute me on the spot."

"Fortunately, wisdom prevailed in that particular instance, and you were not forced to incapacitate the entire group. Cleaning up that mess would be quite frustrating."

"I would think so. You have a job for me?"

"Yes, and a rather fascinating one at that. But before we discuss that I believe we should get away from prying eyes." He unlocked Volke's cell, and ushered him out. "By thew way, I've always wondered what you do with all the money I end up paying you?"

"Five hundred."

"Oooh, So you feel like talking today. I'm quite delighted. Let's hear it."

"Let's just say it goes to the best cause I can think of."

**A/N**: As always, Reviews are taken kindly, even if they express vehement hate for the story.


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